


Which Came First?

by chocolatecatcupcakecheese



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Mpreg, One Shot, don't ever dare me not to do something I WILL DO IT JUST TO SPITE YOU, mpreg!Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 11:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15994352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatecatcupcakecheese/pseuds/chocolatecatcupcakecheese
Summary: The chicken or the egg?(aka the mpreg!Solas fic which my friends EGGED me into writing.) A short one-shot of some of the companions interacting with Solas.





	Which Came First?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Othanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Othanas/gifts), [VisceralComa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralComa/gifts), [AlyssumFlowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssumFlowers/gifts), [Mayamelissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayamelissa/gifts), [Chiabride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiabride/gifts).



> This is utter and complete crack wrapped in fluff.  
> It started with a tweet by Patrick Weekes, about [Solas in a Mech](https://twitter.com/PatrickWeekes/status/1036785686131560448)  
> Then Thanatosia posted, quite unrelated, [this joke about babies driving mechs](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/366364581414699009/488493610610851854/image0.jpg) and I went straight down a terrible, terrible rabbit hole.  
> After all, if one trickster god can give birth to strange things like wolves and eight-legged horses, why can't another?  
> Please enjoy! I sure did.

Sera choked on her own saliva when she heard.   
After a moment of intense hacking, wherein Solas wished passionately for her death, she wheezed, “ _ You’re _ having a baby?  _ You _ , yerself? Quit fucking about. Men don’t work like that.” She looked imploringly at Varric. “Do they?”   
Varric shrugged expansively. “ _ I _ sure don’t know.  _ I _ thought it was impossible, but all of you seem determined to out-weird anything I could ever think up. This is why people think I’m a hack.” He made a disgusted noise to rival Cassandra and sighed. “The truth really is stranger than fiction.”

  
* * *   


  
Blackwall matched pace with him back to camp. The man somehow managed to lurk at his shoulder and not seem to hover. It was a touching gesture, but one Solas ultimately resented. “Who’s the father, Solas? Or, well, who’s the mother?” he inquired.   
Solas turned horribly red, and turned his face away. For the entire rest of the trip, he answered queries directed at him with one-word responses, and answered queries about the other parent or the child not at all.   


  
* * *   


  
“I have heard of childbirth,” Cassandra said, in the same tone one would use to say, I have heard of disembowelment, and seen the gory results strewn across everything I love. “I wish you the best.”   
He did not see her at all for the next four months.   


  
* * *   


  
Dorian deigned to descend from the library only to lecture him on the pigments and the additives therein.   
“These things will  _ kill _ you, Solas! The alchemical compounds in your paints have been proven to have negative effects upon the health of those using them—”   
Solas tuned him out and did some meditative breathing. These hormones seemed to be making him a bit murderous.    


  
* * *   


  
Adaar brought in a stack of pillows and tucked them into the chair behind Solas. “Here,” she said, patting his head gently with one massive calloused hand. “If you need anything else let me know.” She hovered, anxious, and at length, asked if he needed any more books or paints.   
“I have been forbidden from touching my paints,” Solas grumbled. “Dorian was quite adamant that certain pigments and fixatives would be detrimental to the child’s health.”   
“Oh.” Adaar hovered a bit more, plucking at the nest of blankets overflowing from the chair onto the floor and tucking him in more securely at his desk. “Is there anything else you need?”   
Solas smiled ruefully. “Thank you, but no.”   
“Alright! Let me know if you do need anything!” Finally, she left, sidling awkwardly out the door toward Cullen’s office.   


  
* * *   


  
Vivienne brought some truly horrendous tea in a gilt-edged teacup and saucer wrought of delicate bone china. “For your health, darling,” she said, in arch tones, setting it at his elbow. “You are caring for two now, and must ensure you get adequate nutrition.” The door opened and she directed a servant to place a foul-smelling, steaming dish at his other elbow. “I had the servants make this for you. It is a dish well-known in Ostwick to benefit the unborn child’s development.”   
Solas curled his lip at it. “What is it?”   
“It is citrus-glazed salmon, dear, served grilled with spiced chick-peas and Orlesian orange carrots.”   
Solas eyed the plate of food. It made his stomach turn just looking at it. “I will eat it later, Madame de Fer. You have my thanks.”   
She studied him, then arched one perfect brow. “Take it away,” she directed the servant with an imperious tilt of her head. “Bring warm broth instead.” She stacked all of the books spread across the desk by order of author name, then placed them across the rotunda, in a stack near the sofa. She swept back and moved the tea directly before him. She tapped the rim with a single lacquered nail.   
“Drink,” she ordered. “It will help assuage the nausea.”   
Solas glared at the confiscated books. He sipped the disgusting tea. By the time the broth arrived, his nausea was gone. Vivienne patted his hand with frigid fingers and took the empty teacup away.   


  
* * *   


  
Kremisius peeked into the rotunda, letting in the offensively bright morning sun. “Chief said you were holed up here,” he said. “Here, I brought you something.” He proffered the pair of cloth-wrapped bundles.    
“What is it?” Solas growled, raising his head from the pile of pillows on the sofa. He was beyond miserable. He couldn’t even focus to study. Healing magic did little to abate the contractions plaguing him.   
Krem reached out and placed one bundle against his forehead. It radiated heat. “It’s some hot water bottles. I use ‘em when I’ve got cramps. I don’t know how much it might help, but I got one for the back and one for the front.”   
Solas wedged one in the small of his back, and the heat immediately began relaxing the knot of tension there. He placed the second one at the base of the growing bump. He sighed in relief.   
Krem craned his neck, listening carefully to movement in the library above, then pulled another, smaller bundle wrapped in brown paper out of the pouch at his waist. “Cravings are a bitch,” he said, and offered the bundle. Solas took it, curious. Krem stuck his hands in his pockets and watched Solas unwrap it.   
Inside were three perfect chocolate-chip cookies. They were still warm and gooey. Freshly baked.   
“Varric came through with some more chocolate for the Chief. Thought you and Junior there might like a little.” Krem grinned crookedly.   
Solas inhaled the rich scent of it, earthy and smooth in the back of his throat. The hot, sweet pastry smelled positively divine. Solas took a bite. The flavor burst across his tongue, rich bitter chocolate, melty and smooth, and sweet bread, soft and crumbling around it. He let out a little groan.   
“Perfect, yeah?” Krem bounced a little on the balls of his feet. “Chief said he’s got no clue what to do with children, but chocolate heals all hurts. Just don’t let word to the Iron Lady up there.” He gestured vaguely behind him in the direction of the Keep’s balcony.   
Solas swallowed, and resisted the urge to inhale the entire pastry. “I will keep your shipment of supplies secret. My most sincere thanks to you both.”   
“Of course.” Krem left the way he came, and could be heard whistling as the rotunda door closed behind him.   


  
* * *   


  
Sera swept into the rotunda in a flurry of eye-watering bright color and a horrid, sulfurous smell.    
“Bull says Vivy’s been keeping you on a healthy diet of vegetables and shite. Fuckin’ torture, ’s what it is. Got some honey from the hives for yer shitty teas.” She slammed a cloth-wrapped clay jar onto the desk in the center of the room. “This is ’cause-a Junior, mind, not  _ you _ .” She glared at him under her brows, belligerent.   
Solas stared at her in shock. “Thank you, Sera,” he said, and felt a wave of emotion rise in him at the kind gift. He swallowed past the sudden, irrational tears.   
She turned horribly red. “Fuck, ’s not like that!” she snapped. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Elvhen Glory! Just. Kids are…” Sera trailed off, her gaze going momentarily distant. “Woulda liked a little sibling once, but…” Sera snapped back from whatever memory held her, and scrunched her face up at him. “Take care of Junior, Elvhen Glory!” she blustered, clearly mortified, and swept out the door again, cursing under her breath and taking the sulfurous smell with her.    


  
* * *   


  
Leliana brought him a plate of frilly cakes in a box from a renowned bakery in Orlais.   
“Children are blessings from the Maker,” she murmured, pouring a goblet of cold, clean water for him from the rune-engraved pitcher on the table beside his sofa. “They are worth the pain for the greater joy they bring.” In her eyes lurked some sort of distant, deep-seated sorrow. “Be sure to walk a bit, and get some sunlight once you finish drinking this. You are looking pale.” She pressed the goblet into his hands, and her fingers brushed his, colder than the icy water.   
She fussed at the blankets and pillows ensconcing him, her hands surprisingly gentle, then disappeared back upstairs without even a whisper of sound.   


  
* * *   


  
Cole appeared late in the night, when Solas couldn’t sleep or breathe too deeply for the infant kicking him in the diaphragm.    
“Hello,” he said, kneeling down and laying his head against Solas’ stomach. “You’re not ready yet. You should sleep some more. It is loud and cold here.”   
The infant stretched once more, standing against his diaphragm, then went quiescent. Solas breathed deep, relieved breaths.   
Cole patted his stomach again. “Soon,” he whispered, then fixed his gaze on Solas.   
“Stirring, a small warmth, growing larger, a labor of love. It will be fine,” the spirit assured him.   
“Thank you, Cole,” Solas murmured.   
Cole smiled faintly and disappeared from his awareness again.   


  
* * *   


  
Solas disappeared from Skyhold for a week to take care of everything. When he returned, everyone was gathered in the courtyard to greet him.    
Solas dismounted from his hart, the pressure of a dozen gazes drilling holes into him.   
“Did the… the…  _ birth… _ go well?” Cassandra asked, from the edge of the crowd. She looked ready to bolt at any moment.    
“It did,” he replied, and gestured for his companion to step forward.    
“This is my son. His name is Fenris.” The surly elf beside him threw back his hood and glared at the assemblage of Solas’ gawking compatriots as he dismounted from his horse.   
Sera inhaled so fast she choked and descended into a coughing fit. “Thought you was lady Hawke’s boyfriend?” she finally managed.   
Fenris glared at her. “I am.”   
“Then however in the world—” Dorian stopped talking as Fenris turned his gaze on him.   
“Magic,” Fenris rumbled, as though if he spat the word forcefully enough, he could eliminate all instances of it from the world completely. He positively radiated a murderous aura. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides.   
“But how are you  _ grown? _ ”   
“Magic,” Fenris snarled. Dorian wilted.   
“Shit, Chuckles,” Varric sighed. “No one would believe this shit if I wrote it. This is why my editor hates me.”   


**Author's Note:**

> One typo changed "Fenrir" to "Fenris". That's it, that's the fic. Leave me a screaming comment if you'd like.  
> My thanks and 500 >:) evil ideas >:) >:) to the Modern Character In Thedas Discord for enabling me. I love you all.


End file.
